Seven Days
by Jennifer N
Summary: It was something that could probably be remedied. SV angst. COMPLETE


**Title:** Seven Days

**Summary:** "It was something that could (probably) be remedied." S/V angst. 1/1

**Category:** Angst (When is it not?)

**Spoilers:** One slight reference to 4.05, "Welcome to Liberty Village." Vague references to S1-S3.

**Rating:** PG

**Distribution:** CM, SD-1, _Alias_ belongs to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot.

**A/N:** Thanks to Jude for looking at this. It's her fault I'm posting. :P

**Seven Days**

They left for Santa Barbara on a Tuesday.

They flew into Los Angeles that morning, adrenaline still pumping through their veins from their latest mission halfway around the world. They put on their professional facades and filed the necessary paperwork—significantly less than what was expected before; being a real black ops unit had its perks—and did their best not to let her father know what their plans were.

They repacked their suitcases and hurried to the car and drove as fast as they dared, exchanging quiet looks on occasion as they drove past familiar landmarks, indicators that they were nearing their destination.

It had taken them three years, but they both banished that thought and breathed sighs of relief that it hadn't taken longer.

They spent two days there—dinners and dancing and walks on the beach and spending half the day in bed. They said and did all the right things, heard all the comments not very quietly sent their way about the happy couple—newlyweds, perhaps?

When they closed their eyes to sleep at night, they tried to make themselves believe it.

The little things started to annoy him a bit too much on a Friday.

It was silly, he told himself as he watched the latest sports headlines. It was small and insignificant and would blow over by morning.

But lately, there were times when she just pissed him off.

He looked around her apartment—_their_ apartment, he corrected—and saw evidence of her everywhere. Her furniture, her movies, her books, her mail. Every bit of it seemed to be taunting him.

He didn't get it; he'd lived with women before. He'd been _married_ before. It was just a rough patch, something that would smooth itself over in a day or two.

It was something that could (probably) be remedied.

It was . . . temporary.

She locked the door of the bathroom stall on a Monday afternoon and sobbed uncontrollably.

She was in the office all day, a rarity with her new job, and decided to do something normal people do—take a lunch hour. She resurfaced on the Los Angeles streets and walked a few blocks to a small sandwich shop that had just what she was craving.

She lost her appetite when she realized who was standing in line behind her.

Her best friend's mother. Ex-best friend. Not ex, but . . . deceased best friend. She nodded resolutely to herself. That was better.

It was a shock to both women, who hadn't seen each other in years, long before a fire ever claimed three lives. But there was a history, memories of sleepovers and chocolate chip cookies and decorating dorm rooms and first apartments. A history she had tried for so long to forget, to discard with everything else from her old life—lives—that she couldn't reconcile with the new.

It only took one long lunch to bring it all back. And now she can't forget.

Which is why she returned from lunch, eyes straight ahead, and went immediately to the nearest ladies' room. She locked the door and squinched her eyes and covered her mouth with her right hand. She sobbed and wailed and choked on more sobs and waved her left hand frantically in the air around her, although she didn't know why.

Long minutes later she sobbed a little less, only let the tears flow freely down her cheeks as her brain whirred back to life. It was natural to cry in honor of her friend, in memory of the one who _didn't_ miraculously return from the dead after two years, but it was more than that.

There were tears for her friend, one who was more of a sister than any blood relative ever could be. There were tears for her friend's mother, who she could tell looked at her and wondered how fate could be so cruel.

And there were tears for a life, a history, a person she no longer knew. Herself. Her double life. The life where she lied to her best friends, mourned the loss of a good man, questioned the words of her father, felt the sting of betrayal of a seemingly pure mother. The life where things were said to one person in stolen glances and words with double meanings.

A life where somehow, someway, she still managed to be happy at times.

And that's what made her cry most of all.

She wasn't happy anymore.

His best friend began to quiz the happy couple on a Wednesday.

It was the middle of the work week, and everyone was in town for once. They had ordered take out and played with a friend's baby who wasn't a baby anymore and bid most people farewell before the interrogation began.

He was asking them, he said with uncharacteristic seriousness, because they were his best friends. They were like family. And after all they had endured to be together, they deserved happiness. It was just within their grasp.

They silently agreed with him, finally admitting to themselves words they had denied too long. For him they smiled and nodded and held hands and placated him with excuses of work and stress and life in general and anything that made a modicum of sense as they were throwing out reasons that there was no longer a need for a flirting corner at the office.

Things were different now.

They ran away to the Vatican on a Saturday.

It was something they did in the beginning of phase two of their relationship—make a side trip once an op was completed. Dinner in Paris. Dancing in London.

Finally sitting across from each other at Trattoria di Nardi. Without having to break into the Vatican.

It had been forever since they had risked insubordination and asked the pilot—nicely, always nicely—if he or she would mind stopping for a few hours in a city they had both traveled to dozens of times and yet never seen outside the parameters of the job. But for some reason—he wasn't sure why; maybe the thrill of successfully completing a difficult mission, maybe the way she grinned at something he said—he pointed out to her that they would be flying over Italy and would she be interested . . . ? For a moment time had vanished and they were their younger selves, shy and unsure and hoping against hope that someday, somehow, they would be where they finally were.

Although he always thought they would be happier.

He ignored that line of thought as she flashed her dimples and said yes, knowing without asking where they would dine that evening. After all the years of waiting, she could only hope the food lived up to the hype.

Many hours later, back on the plane, she let herself admit what she had spent too long denying. The food, the ambiance, the . . . _everything_ was worth the wait.

But perhaps she had waited too long on her companion.

The words erupted between them on a Thursday.

It started small and insignificant, as most disagreements do. Until the words picked up speed and the volume crescendoed and neither recognized the other anymore.

It was many things. It was forgotten household tasks and mistakes on missions and parents they wished didn't belong to them and weddings to vapid blondes they wished could be taken back. It was misplaced keys and typos on operations reports and half-sisters they never asked for and Lauren, Will, Simon, Alice, Noah. It was every bitten-back remark, every thought voiced under the breath, every misunderstanding that had been bubbling under the surface for five years.

When it ended, neither was left standing.

They carpooled to the airport on a Sunday.

They left the car in long-term parking where someone else would pick it up later. They wheeled their carry-on luggage and double-checked that they had their boarding passes and quickly went through the security checkpoint.

They walked beside each other, in step for once, until the point where their paths diverged.

They smiled small, tight, half-smiles and nodded to each other. They embraced quickly, awkwardly, and brushed a kiss on the other's cheek. They opened their mouths to make false promises, to write, to call, to e-mail, to keep in touch with mutual friends. Their eyes met and came to an understanding.

They each turned and walked their separate ways, inching closer to a life unencumbered by the past.

fin


End file.
